


Leader of Ten People

by orphan_account



Series: The Moon's Face: Details [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader Insert, details, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2725334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first in my three parts series showing details from The Sun and The Moon. I suggest you read that first. Dean means Leader of Ten Men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add to this later...

For how long had you watched? In silence, like sewing; like silently stabbing your emotions with a needle, twisting it and cutting. You took a sharp inhale, and then a long exhale. Again, you watched, he was winding his fingers through hers, brushing his other fingertips across her neck skin, where goosebumps rose. She was leaning into his masterfull fingers as he stroked down her chin, tracing her soft jawline and down her neck again, delicately. He had been touching her so carefully, as if touching an ancient, precious desert flower or touching a thinly sculpted, marble sculptures, the ones in the museums worth millions that he would touch when no one was looking. He combed through hair, soft as satin. She was closing her eyes, her nostrils moving so slightly as she breathed, _she breathed,_ and she made breathing look just like a luxury, a sultry movement just for him. You breathed as well, but it shuddered, it rasped, the ocean of air breaking on your lungs like rocks. So empty it was that your breath echoed off the walls, ghostly and haunting. The Leader of Ten Men. Dean. He glanced at you, questioningly, subtly, and you smiled faintly, like the echoes of your voice around the bar. He was turning back to her and caressing her hands again, then, leaning in, he whispered, an intimate moment, their foreheads touching. You could hear, but you let it filter past you as noise, focusing on the way his cologne smelled, how it mingled with vodka and beer and her floral perfume. Whispers and a giggle. He was putting his lips on hers, and they blended together beautifully as if in a watercolor painting and the artist was dragging his brush over where their lips were, combining the colors together. You took a bitter drink and it snapped you halfway to reality as it burned through your throat.  
∞  
A fishbowl.  A place where you could hear and see, where reality and fantasy blurred together in the curves of the glass. You were addicted to him, watching him, watching him, always watching him. You didn't like to sleep, it was so much nicer to watch him sleep, usually with his arm draped over a girl, the worry etched into his lines and faces dulled by the dark lights and sleep. He was quiet, he would hold her close to him, making her feel secure. It wasn't you, but you could manage for now. It made him happy to be with someone else, then you were content. Once, you had been on a diet. You watched cooking shows and watched people eat on your computer. You weren't eating yourself, but you imagined yourself eating _and it helped._ Once your diet was over you ate again but you never shook that habit of watching others and imagining instead of experiencing it yourself. You propped yourself up, watching him again as he slept.  
∞  
His face was very close to yours now, and his eyes were searching you. You kept your face absoloutely straight, not showing emotion because why would you? He didn't care, he tried, he was so sweet but it was in his nature not to care about you.  
∞  
 _She_ was overstaying, _she_ didn't seem to realize she was his one night stand, a fling for the night, so that meant you had to be extra nice and not replay the images of him tracing her skin at night and scream that it should be you. You smiled, making sure to crinkle your eyes, because a fake smile never reaches the eyes unless you're smart, and placed another pancake on her plate.  
∞

His hand reached over and on to her shoulders, playing with her soft hair, stroking it like cat's fur, and then twisting it around his fingers and slightly pulling. He reached higher and started to finger comb her hair, pulling gently through the curls. She giggled at something in the movie they were watching, a 'chick-flick' as he would call it. You sat behind the sofa where they sat, pretending to read. As  
he stroked her head in a soft massage, you did the same to yourself. You had a blanket wrapped around you. It was easier to pretend when you had placebos. When you had been on your diet, you had munched on carrots while you watched spring rolls be eaten, to trick your brain into thinking something you couldn't ever have was yours.  
∞  
The wind rushed through the open windows and swirled in the back seat. The Impala was racing down a road to the hospital. His friend, the one who you sympathized with, the one that also loved him, _the angel_ was human and had been injured. The angel was very pale and you could hear his heart as he lay on the bench, bleeding out. You tried to make eye contact with the one who couldn't care about you in yhe mirror, but he was bent over the former angel. His brother's knuckles clenched the wheel, and the wind swept his shaggy hair. He went over a bump, and you doubled in pain. Your leg was bent in wrong angles, the deathly creamy bone was poking out a gash in one side, blood was soaking your shoes and forming a puddle on the floor, but you didn't make a sound. He wouldn't care. The angel was the priority, after all, you didn't matter to him.  
∞

He was confused why you had a cast on your leg. You told him you fell down the stairs. He never realized it.  
∞

Your sister was here for your birthday. She was so sweet, and accepted the ghosts and demons as life. Of course, when you took her to a bar just for fun, it would be haunted. You saw the spirit too late, as her face contorted into a horrified panic, her thin fingers reaching and holding to your arm before she died. His brother was burning the bones outside, his hair lit by the fire, but your sister was gone. The Leader of Ten was with a girl, the bartender, and she was scared. He passed by you, whispering, telling you to calm her while he helped his brother. So you comforted a girl that you had never met, and then he came back and told her it was alright, stroking her face and calming her. You turned away, numb from the pain of losing your friend and sister. You were comforting someone who was grieving when you should be the one grieving and being comforted. A tear fell from your face, the light making it shine, a dark void in your heart, no remedy for this pain, your sister's death haunting you.  
∞  
Alchohol told him that you thought it was your fault she was dead. Alchohol kissed him. Alchohol kissed back, and you ran.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just me taking segments from the other story and adding some details.

_Dean seemed beautiful again, his elegant fingers brushing over hers, eyes filled with admiration, desire. Eyes, shining, unique, that looked at every woman the same. Except for you. You would never seen those eyes laced with anything other than amusement or irritation._  
He was ghosting over her fingers, tracing the crease lines and nail polish. He stared deep in to her eyes as she talked, watching her perfectly shaped lips move. This happened every time he went to a bar. This time you couldn't merely watch, as pangs of jealousy and hurt pierced your heart. Every time they moved in unison, you flinched. He knelt in, closing his eyes, his hand behind her head, gently pulling her closer. They met, passion dripping from them like sap. You swallowed roughly, your throat scratchy and thick. You were frozen, watching as his mouth trailed down her neck, his fingers running over her shoulder. A man knocked into your table, and your shot fell off the table, shattering. You stood, the air thick and sickly sweet. Sweat ran down your face, and you were breathing. Not lightly like his girls do, but heavily, like someone dropped a weight on you. You walked out, the cold air a slap to the face. You tripped over a root and fell to your knees. He had just come out. She was sucking off his face like a leach. You sneered, but you were the one walking home in the frigid air. Not her.

 _The stars continued chanting and you realized how drunk you were._  
 **How pathetic.** Shame burned your face. You had been reduced to walking in the dark, alone, in thirty degree weather, while the one you loved was loving someone else. You growled lowly, hate rising in your throat like bile. You hated that slim redhead so much right now. She had still been wearing a nametag from her job; she was probably a sleaze at a tiny gas station. The scratched plastic had read 'Jean' in faint black letters, and oily fingerprints had smugded the 'Here to help!' part so it just read 'help'. But at least she had a job. What were you without them? Nothing. Someone dumps the water out of the fishbowl, the fish dies, shuddering and gasping for breath, slowly and brutally.You shivered at the thought, wrapping your arms around yourself. The stars had faded out of your mind, and grass crumpled under your feet, crisp and cold. _He does not love you he does not love you he does not love you---_

_Padding through the wet grass at midnight to the Impala, you started to question your choices._  
Your hand reached forward to the sleek handle of his car, the moon lighting your skin, making it glow. You felt like an ethereal creature in the moonlight, your skin creamy smooth, the moon covering blemishes and scars. You caught your face in one of the windows. It shone back at you, your mouth set in a straight line, your eyes haunted. You stared at yourself. You had promised you would never be homeless when you were young. But you weren't really homeless, were you? 

_The thing that hurt was that he agreed._  
He was close again. He had asked about the night. "Just fine," you screamed, "The only decent looking man in there laughed at me while you sucked off her face. You never notice me! What am I, a ghost?" He stepped back, white fury in his face as his fist made contact with your chin. You fell to the floor, numb pain raging through your face. You grabbed your jaw as he yanked you up by your shirt.  
"Yes, " he hissed. Suddenly you were in a ring of salt. They had your bones, and his eyes! his eyes were so empty and cruel, they laughed as you screamed, writhed in pain as they set your bones on fire. You were enfulged in flames, the heat burning you from the inside out, you could feel the flame ripping through your skin. Your face was melting. They laughed wildly as they poured more kerosene, your vision spiraling out of control. "You've always been invisible to me," he cackled.

 

Your vision appeared dully, the Impala's cold ceiling. Your heart pounded at your chest. You vividly felt the flames burning you still from inside the dream. Later, when he did ask, you responded quietly, refusing to look at him. The dream was over, but his voice echoed inside your skull. _You've always been invisible to me..._

 _"Why are you crying?"_  
You grabbed at excuses, but none made sense, and you couldn't lie to him. Your voice choked. You swallowed, feeling the familiar rock scratching down your throat. Panic slithered its nimble fingers up your throat, and you took a heaving breath. It collapsed back into sobs, your chest contracting, resulting in the halting, painful sobs that is common in toddlers. Your hair slipped past your ears into your face, becoming wet and salty with tears. You were huddled in a ball, and you felt a rough hand reach past your face to brush the hair away, his hand trailing over your hair. His fingers touched the skin of your head, and as he pulled away, you could still feel the tingling of your scalp. You finally composed yourself to look at him, looking from his neck up: the stubble on his face, a faint scar next to his mouth, which was drawn tight; his straight nose, with so many freckles, his eyes, so bright, melting, a pool of colours and designs, the brightest green you had ever seen. You had memorized his features, but never touched, so sniffling, you cautiously touched the side of his face. He twitched, and your hand jerked back as if you had gotten caught by a gaurd at the museum touching something old. You said the words. You looked down, pain and hope mingling in your chest. He was saying your name, telling you to look at him. You took a second heaving breath, shuddered, and looked at him. Time froze for just a second. You felt your face melt, go empty, leaving a tingling sensation, leaving feeling pale and gutted, without blood. You could feel the desperation on your face, the tension on his, and the embaressment in his eyes. You shook your head, refusing to acknowledge this moment's existence. The clock on the wall ticked and he was talking, his hands running through his hair, shaking his head, saying something, but your hands were on your mouth, a haze surrounded you, and a ringing in your ears blocked everything out. You stumbled off the bed, tears leaking as your chest collapsed again. You finally heard his voice, echoing like chimes, but you didn't want to hear it! Your heart was the only thing you heard. He must have seen the hurt in your eyes, because he stepped towards you, stopped talking, put a hand on yours. This time you were the one who flinched and ran.


End file.
